


Feeble Little Robin

by QuizzicalSpider



Category: IHE, Jar Media
Genre: Domestic Violence, M/M, Masturbation, One-Sided Attraction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 12:58:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6658990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuizzicalSpider/pseuds/QuizzicalSpider
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan has few freedoms, few escapes and little reason to hold on to an already damned life lain out ahead of him, so much like his fathers, filled with mistakes. Every night he comes home from the wood behind his home, taking the fire that he has no will to turn away from and searing in self-pity. Alex is a true resolution a real purpose untainted by the fallacies of perverseness. The way life hurts the way it scorches him abandon by his mother, sister passed on to an afterlife he’s not sure he ever believed in and father drowning in liquor waiting for the next match.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfiction so criticism, hopefully constructive, is accepted with open arms. I love Jar Media IHE also and I noticed that there weren't any fanfictions on AOW so I wrote one.

Chapter 1   
A robin is heard chirping overhead giving a call to others in its surrounding. The audible sound of nature, a true statement of spring that resonated in his ears. Relishing in a faintly humid and warm afternoon. The sun gently shown through the leaved of the maples and oaks, illuminating each into a light show. The sensation of the cool winds sending tingles and erecting goose bumps up his bare arms. No day like today could be emulated, a moment in time as serene and as warm as now. The spoors of outside life no longer pricked at his patience. Mike and Janice seemed eons away still congregating in their shit backwoods home. Mike would sit at the across from the television unrolling cigarettes chewing the tobacco with already darkening teeth that hadn’t seen care. Stubby bitumen stained fingertips like hammer heads, nails gnawed to the cuticle. Greedily pushing tobacco past chapped lips and into his mouth. Wordlessly sans any facial expressions absorbing the dribble of sporadic colors emoting from the light box. Each phrase, deus ex machina and drama another symbol ladled into the chicken noodle soup of his blended faux intellect. Spittle and cloudy gungy fluid leaving it traces on his digits. Chewing consuming like he was a machine only pausing to seize another. Despite the revolting pier of disastrous endeavors and tobacco dreams he would call father, his disgust of him did not surmount the uneasiness and anxiety his step-mom enacted on him. The way she addressed him with looks of abhorrence and disgust, his very existence an audacious act. Glares that dared him to speak, even as a child her eyes challenged him to ask anything of her. In Janice’s mind he was the trespasser, a smooth faced ignorant child that ate up her husband’s cash by the hundreds. She would never be a motherly figure just a common whore playing house. The tapping of her brash cantankerous red talons, tips filed to a point, corners of the breakfast table observing him with those eyes that silently whispered worthless. More tweets are heard above him stooping his train of thought, the robin now accompanied by his bird friends. The ambiance of nature, its pureness. Touched but not tainted, constantly morphing but not altered. He wanted to be that robin flying free and away from his own circumstances, he knew that some times he was shy of gold nonetheless he deserved a resolution. These thought accompanied him through his walk into the nocturnal ahead.   
Ryan paced breaths level but heavy taking all his lung capacity to exhale warm breaths into cold air that stung when inhaled. Climbing into his mouth seizing the dampness and chilling lungs. The rawness of the atmosphere chafing up against bared arms. The chirps of robins interchanged with the periodic sounds of crickets and cicadas making a concerto only accessible during the night. Playing only for those who stir in the small hours of the evening. He looked on into the wood witnessing the noticeable changes that arose with the nightfall. The trees seemed to bend into inconceivable positions having all manners of sharp edges to them. Like a sturdy wind would make them detach with a loud crack. Even the moon light appeared angular its waves of light fading into a dim purple then to a vast bitumen shadow. The blackness so obscure its illumination couldn’t penetrate. The scene was straight out of a Halloween story, in any moment a creature as gaunt as the trees would creep out. Maybe an enchantress in purple striped leggings would fly doing rounds like a shadow figure on her broom cackling. He lifted weighted legs trekking through the rough landscape no longer being aware of the actions just carrying them out. Each support after the other, up the mound and stepping on the rocks that shown darker than the surrounding land. Tall grass tracing its finger tips along his ankles. All around him was alive but hided in the darkness behind the trees, in the grass, and traversing in between the median of the starless expanse.  
Too distracted by his fantasy realm of magic and witchery to care about the lack of cloth guarding his arms from the full frontal attack of cold that barraged against him. Sending it iciest gusts to flick at him but to avail did it dampen his mood. In his mind the warmth of exploration dominating his sanities, unalloyed adrenaline. The inkling of a smile enlivening his facial muscles sans any worries or concerns. A total of thirteen episodes of the Jar cast were watched hours of his life that didn’t feel as wasted. The dynamic of Alex and Ruben, Alex being the dumbass that he is derailing the course of the episode with quips varying in humor but entertaining none the less. Alex’s devote Christian friend Ruben of ambiguous race shutting him up and going on evenhanded discussions when the topic peaked his interest or provoked him in some way. The symmetry of the two, one disorderly and lively and the other sensible but still passionate kept Ryan enthralled even when the most stupid of subjects were debated. Jamie a mixture of the other two members level-headed and yet has the ability to laugh and amuse Alex’s random tangents. A fourth member missing for a majority of the episodes, James who he had mistaken for Jamie the first time he discovered the channel the differences now seemed incalculable. He was more quiet then Jamie but a polar opposite to Alex. Each episode was either chock full of fascinating arguments or meaningless shit that made him laugh. Continuing on his journey to the house he soaked up more of the good feelings that came to him seldom. Every day of the summer had passed on sluggishly, days filled with vapid empty activities consisting of forest escapades and listing to Janice and Mike fuck through the thin walls of their prebuilt home. Mike would come home plastered yelling about how the she devil life had screwed him over the table of fate. Mikes belligerent bellowing beating the dividers of the house, if he couldn’t find Janice Ryan would take his anger in her absence. Rupturing through the door breaking Ryan’s lock roughing him up a bit and go to the master bedroom. Nothing lasting but if left some his body black and blue aching and seething at his own weakness. Most of the time he was out of reach going to school spending time getting average grades and socializing with others. Since he no longer had that safe haven he made a habit of going out to the forest. She would keep him safe and hidden just like the creatures that subsisted within her. A portion of him felt shameful and cowardice for leaving Janice with him, that guilt unsheathed itself from him once he remembered those miens of superiority even from black eyes. Ryan started his tread down a slope, in the distance he sighted the burgundy roof of a house that colored itself black at the late hour. The lights were off, giving him the guise to escape into the house undetected by Mike. Ryan lifted his achy limps this time with more control, ascending the paint chipped backdoor stairs Mike had promised Janice he would paint for the past two years. He wondered what she had expected from his father, he spent all his thirty-seven years sitting on his ass, and no pair of open legs could change that attitude for long. Not even mother could change him that’s why she left, or that’s what he wanted to think, that she left him because she had to but he’s not stupid, no how matter weak he isn’t stupid enough to think she couldn’t have stole away with her son. In the dead of night kiss him awake clutch him tight and he would seize his rabbit from underneath his blankets. Mother holding her sleeping child along with two suitcases. Life from a young age then on changed perhaps a slight less tragic, turning its genre into a heart wrenching drama.  
Grasping the door knob the excitement of night walking subsiding. Lights blinked on and Mike mounted across the small entry way hand behind the bookcase. Small hairs erected on his burning skin, the air was dense paced breaths were difficult to push out. “Do you know what time it is?” the question was rhetorical, from what he could see on the stove clock adjacent the kitchen displayed 1:57, being exactly an hour and fifty-three minutes late. “Cause you sure as hell don’t-,” Mikes inflamed face letting out an irritated breath like he was suffering the same air density as him but still keeping its pained illustration. “Don’t know what time it is! Where were you Sebastian?” He stood not knowing how to respond, the answer seemed clear but the more his father’s expression warped from angry to angrier his terror distorted any coherent thoughts. He hoped that the man would let him pass with a few scruffs. His father fists clenching, masticated nails forcing their way into his palm only to outsource the rising frustration. “You remember Millie don’t you? She ran out just like you and disappeared just like your bitch mother!” The redness of his face went to blazing, directing his grubby fingers at Ryan, he would have thought Mike was at the edge of tears if it wasn’t for the tenor of his voice. Walk out, get to my room and push the bed against the door and get out through the window. A simple plan to get away, just to escape for one night deprived of the force of blame and humiliation pushing his heart on the ribs of his frame till it became a nauseating full feeling that kept expanding and gripping souls. A forceful hand snatched him from behind the neckline of the shirt choking him and making him stagger backwards into Mikes forearm. His chest constricted with distress more so than when entering the house, a panic poles apart. “Listen boy, don’t you dare ignore me.” His breath was hot the stench of whiskey permeating from the orifice holding his white film covered tongue, making the curve of Ryan’s neck moist with condensation. He had been drinking again for sure, there was no mistaking the strong smell he inhaled so many times. Breathing in his mother, his father, his childhood and how it was spent. The grip went on to Ryan’s shoulder thickset tips roughly pushing in not letting up and digging further between the dip of his collar bone. Invisible fire only existent and able to be felt by him scorched his shoulder in the form of his father. “Don’t move faggot.” He shook him a bit before throwing Ryan up against the bookcase, clatters reverberated quaking the white walls. “Don’t you fucking ignore me!” Mike kneeled over him throwing his fists violently striking him without mercy without any kindness. Relentlessly assaulting bruising his own knuckles, each blow joining with Ryan’s upper body ultimately hitting the side of his head. Mike gripped his arm jerking him to face his fists. During that time he thought about mother and her hair. Often as a child in times like these his mother wrapped him in her hair. The strands had grown so long after years of refusing to cut even an inch, after a while it reached the calves compelling her to retain it in a tight braid. But in spells that his father became enraged knocking whatever in his path like a bull (less often then). She unfastened the braid “Ven aquí pequeño” and breathed to him in a language he had no understanding of but made the bad moments wash away with every syllable and hushed tone. Time passed and the force of his father slackened, his clouts no longer precise but distracted. The beating stopped when Mike stood up breathing heavily hair somewhat tossed. Ryan warily twisted his head observing his father, the noticeable rise and fall of his chest and beads of sweat carving a river in the filth coated on his face. Ryan knew if his father were to kill him he would have done it striking his temple. Still the disheveled nature and when he looked into his eyes they looked through him not focusing on anything. Resembling an animal, ones that lived in the woods behind the house. The fear of death a cologne mixing with the stench of soiled denims. He didn’t dare cry, pissed pants, bloody bruises and he refused to let himself sink into the pitiful act of crying. Not even when the pounding resumed. The pain vibrated along his lower ribs once steel toe work boots broke into his abdomen making him let out a pained noise that repetitively escaped suddenly through his windpipe. Mike held his gaze out of him continuing a steady pace of swift kicks.  
“My god Michael, please stop please!” Janice hurried out the master bedroom no longer being capable to stand the uproar, making her feel depraved. A special beast that resided within Mike, unbridled, and dark anything but human, civility gone the moment Janice confronted him. He turned his body in her direction with precision leaving Ryan askew about the carpet. Smack! She seemed so frail her scrawny self, thrown to the side and into the breakfast table, side landing on metal corner all by the back of his hairy hand. Ryan couldn’t help but contemplate with half coconsciousness, the irony of the situation he was in. The man who is beaten and fucked by life, asshole boss, bills that came in too fast, and a rising tobacco addiction. He got to go home and mess everyone else over with no consequences. Not even the neighbors who could hear the screaming cared to call the police, too much trouble. If they wanted to escape they would have by now. It’s almost every night with the noise from that house maybe she deserves it. If the boss micro managed him and got riled up for what seemed to be no reason the man would go home and slap the shit out of his wife. When he lost his job he would grab the biggest weight on his bank account and beat them right into the carpet.   
He waited for his hefty footsteps to fade into the master bedroom before lifting himself up, joints so tight they almost creaked like the floor boards. Ryan was broken no amount of battery could knock the pieces and ornament into place. He was the vase dropped shoved into the darkest corner of the house, hiding it wouldn’t repair the imperfection. It wouldn’t even be fixed if they adhered each minute porcelain shard back into the puzzle. Selfishly in the corner, selfishly on the floor knocked over by the whims of child devils. When looking back on life even if moments ago he sees the devils and the few angels that set themselves into the theatrics. Mike being Lucifer, steel hooves and fierily leather; mother forever in his china heart would be a fallen spirit. No matter how her actions plummeted him, they were still an angels deeds kissed upon by a nonexistent god. Fallen angles features and scorn.  
She wailed an unearthly sound, filled with the need of a whining child. Her own coveting leaving out in pints trickling on motel dirty tiles, greediness unbound and exposed spilling. The flesh, humans that roamed the earth with self-centered objectives, spitting on gods with distaste and misdirected love. Spending fervent nights with the Mikes deep down in charred submersed caverns. Synonyms with sin, only wanting with a tangled hearts made of entitlement. Janice wailed an earthly sound, filled with the pain of a woman beaten by lovers and left to wan. If she kept it up Lucifer would come back with chariots of pitch forked ire. And being made of porcelain additional damage would make him no longer even adequate for the over looked crooks. Kneeling down on rust jointed knees and guiding her ginger mats behind her impure ears, gazing at her with bloodied eyes that understood her pain, felt empathy, eyes that were of a saint looking to a beggar. “Janice,” feather whispering and gentle touches were the only constructs physically capable of him. And knowing how kindhearted his actions were, if mother looked upon him now they would practically be eye level, equally corrupt, this thought brought a tingle of a smile to surface. “Stop it, if he gets angry, who do you think he’ll beat this time?” He procured the bandages and three year old peroxide thrown awry in the back of the medicine cabinet in the kitchen along with the other expired drugs. Supporting in the mid of his chest and arm he took care of her. Continuing to lay caring hands and speaking softly into her lobe. “Cobarde.” He tried his best to remain forgiving almost mouthing it. Surfs of murmurs traveling on the vapors of his hot breathed words. “Puta inutile” Stroking her hair like mother did to him parting waves lightly, going through to the ends. Holding Janice to the end, convincing her the devils and demons merely resided in hell, in ancient books not roaming the globe freely with sizeable influence, cast out by men of up standing faith much stronger then hers. They didn’t exist for that matter nothing existed not the devil, not her mistakes, not her aging body, not even Lucifer.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As this is my first fanfiction this is my first written sexual scene, criticism also taken here.

Chapter 2  
The alarm sounded like it did every morning, he woke contrastingly lukewarm to life. One lid leisurely rising seconds after the other. He forced audible sighs from his opening lungs likewise stirring from its own slumber like state.” Dear god kill me I’m awake.” Slithering his legs against the bed sheet not lifting them up just moving them across till they fell out from under it. Plummeting to the patchy carpet set with stains of questionable sources. When his legs fell so did his torso pivoting to the blinded window lines of mornings glow casting through making light of the dust circling the room. Dead skin. As a child he would have wafted his hand amidst the steady course of particles cascading down. Now just dead skin that shed in miniscule flecks from him, from Lucifer, and the past residents of the house. The longer he gazed upon its consistent stream the more his mind wandered in it. Dead skin. That’s all it was, all his child’s wonder shat on by the facts of existence. Where did it all channel away, what stopper of childhood innocence unplugged and drained the honeyed naivety. At such an early age he already question where the time went, so much weight put on the years of young adulthood. The massacring doubt of ones career of his future, uncertain, he had nothing to offer and he would receive nothing. Face settled into his desiccated hands, pondering the need for consciousness. “Ahhh” he forced out a stifled frustrated cry. Sans any impulse to stay up, he rose before the urge to fall back over took him. Days spent living to him were days wishing for death.  
And that’s why men are pigs Israel. The interest now border lined on obsession. Alex still seemed to enthrall him, despite the amount of idiocy that spewed out of his mouth during Jar cast episodes. The articulation and care of the search for the worst or the IHE videos really demonstrated his ability to hold constructive conversations. Yet he enjoyed the stupid fun of Jar Media along with the others however Alex had to be there. Maybe before it was fine to just have Ruben or Jamie on a blab or review but Alex’s voice and not even that, just knowing he was there assuming what his reaction would be. If Ryan watched enough Jar episodes back to back, over and over he could place the laughs or comical retorts in videos where he wasn’t present. His own pickiness annoyed him, new content being posted but just a review not including Alex. He couldn’t watch it, he couldn’t even watch any other youtubers that showed up in the subscriptions box Game Grumps, YMS, Grade A Under A. No one could gratify that satisfaction that came with viewing any movie or show. For each tone of his voice a little water trickles in the cup that seemed to have an incalculable depth. He got the same high from listing to music and staring at the celling but it still somehow managed to differ. It shared the same feather lightness, feeling its way up and down traversing the limited curves a little blood rushing to his nether regions and to his toes. Strange enough the blood seemed to originate from his head navigating its way down not all at once slowly at first then dwindling in haste. The same symptoms but different emotions, in music it was just an easy escape to some universe carted by the sweet melodies of a vocalist, in Alex it was seeing a lover from long ago, strong senses of nostalgia with a few dashes of regret. Things never said deeds not carried out, the clichés of I love you and don’t go never once uttered. As if he could thousands of miles away rested deep in the south, old town gravy and biscuits contradictory to Alex’s own nation’s stereotype. He contrived elaborate scenes where he could have fit his way into the Jar group (with little understanding of their education system) burrow his presence lasting in the brits’ cognizance. So much that being apart like now would gradually scratch at that empty patch, something was missing but not knowing what. Ryan’s fantasies mostly entailed self-inserting himself into videos, giving his own two cents or nodding along with Ruben. Alex would joke and he would recuperate with correspondingly random banter, deeper and further along fan art of the two instead of him and Ruben or James. “Ry?” she shouted awkwardly positioned behind the door peaking her head in. “Janice your right by the door there’s no reason to shout.” The session of IHE rudely disturbed by Janice trying to be cheeky and cute with such a busted face. Lucifer did a number on her, the first week of healing had been hell her moaning and bitching. Even the marks on his skin hurt, immense rib pain contributing to headaches that refuse to let up since the incident. Though Ryan was bright enough to hide it, Janice complained to Lucifer talking about how cheap meds and anger management classes would be. Her senselessness astounded him, she cowered in the eyes of the devil and dared ask him for a glass of water. Overconfident requests were met with over powered backhands cracking her head to the side, him not even flinching unmoving, unseeing, more concerned with the colors on the television. “Your earphones are in so thought you couldn’t hear me so I SHOUTED!” Pleased at her own little stunt, laughing cigarette traces. “If its dinner I’m not hungry.” The door widened. “Don’t catch an attitude with me, Ryan.” As abruptly as she came she exited the doorway displaying such a joyous grin begging to be slapped. So there’s this whole tumblr blog called IHE fanfiction… He watched several episodes into the dark hours not a care in the world.  
The window propped open a few inches letting in the night’s noise, crickets, cicadas, and whatever he couldn’t even begin to name. Letting in a disturbing clamor that straightened hairs like that of a cartoon character exhibited for hyperbolic reasons. The felling was shame, no doubt about it ominous and unbearable; humiliation rising like a flood settling at the throat threating to drown him, pilfering the Vaseline from the master bedrooms bathroom. The things desperation made people do, in desperation she left her son, in desperation she shacked up with a devil. In his need, it was affirmation and a little debilitating curiosity. Wanting to pursue the highs of listing to Alex’s voice edge on the blood that rushed waking him. It’s what humans and animals alike desire, euphoria, pleasure. Empires brought to their knees, years of commitment ruined just for thirty minutes of pleasure. Sex ruled all, seven billion examples and billions of more crawling the world entirely a result of the desires of two (maybe even more). He was human to want it, even if the spur of the moment excuse failed to endure, being human and being an animal would suffice. Quenching a thirst that came with the flood, arriving in tangent of puberty. Waking to strange happenings, touching himself to nothing. Nowadays he craved like a man in the desert he yearned for just the illusion of water. He wasn’t gay, it was an experiment, no one was holding him and curiosity pried at any justification not to. Earbuds resembling sun-bleached sea shells nestled in the bowl of his ear, cataloging every word uttered by Alex, sans any sexuality but a warmth was still felt. Kneeled over the left side of the bed he closed his eyes and thought about it. Not knowing his face, just the eyes and body, check bones of course prominent lips hopefully a sandy pink color. With that illustration he could imagen the whole video spoken to him. No need for conjuring up the hands Alex had shown the plenty of times, in audio form he would sarcastically laugh, wrinkling the corners of his eyes, leaving laugh lines, slightly tilting back the chin (clean shaven without the need to shave in the first place). Not even following along the phrases, just hearing and seeing words form deprived of meaning. In appropriate fashion Alex would reach his hand out past the translucent veil of reality and touch his arm. Ryan pressed his pelvis into the bed a little harder. He rubbed his hand, a tad calloused but still soft along the goose bumped skin. Stroking the baby hairs getting as far as the shoulder and coming back down refusing to cease eye contact relaying out worthless words. Swallowing down embarrassment first then applying more pressure against the mattress. The hand would continue its path up to his throat, caressing the flesh of his nape, dull nails scratching the hairline. Resuming downward, collar bones, chest, and then his abdomen. Alex’s thumb placing itself at the line of his boxers, stopping. Reaching the threshold of want till it turned to need, true desperation in gratification in sex. Ryan needed and coveted so dearly, dignity merely a façade easily undone. Alex’s hand went down his jeans, palming him through his boxers. Ryan sharply inhaled the scent of cheap Tide detergent and kissed the sheets anticipating his to be as softy. Chafing sounds of the mattress being thrust against inhabited within the walls of his room. “Alex.” Pushing down his pants he grabbed his upper thigh, digging in clipped nails leaving shallow marks all the while imagining Alex’s hand on him. “Fuck” Using haste Ryan forced the boxers down and placed a finger over his anus. Hesitant on whether to press it in or stop while he had the shreds of discerning his sexuality. Met with another want angling towards maturing to a need. Coming this far he started forcing his own finger in despite the burning sensation that arrived. Taking another hand and spreading himself, pressing down to the end. Strange, continuing on moving in and out getting used to the touch, adding an index finger he focused his attention to the fantasy. Alex held one hand on Ryan’s dick the other fingering him. Biting his tongue when the tips touched a spot inside him, continuing to abuse it till his legs quaked. Warmth in-between his legs making his thighs stick to the jeans, deriving pleasure in the motions of his touches, pressing harder into Alex’s hand getting closer and closer. Needing to finish but not choosing to stop. “A-Alex.” Ryan sporadically thrusted into the bed side cuming in his pants fingers still in himself. Pathetically repeating Alex’s name in his head listing to something not even remotely sexual. He let go of his pride and killed what dignity that lay.   
 


End file.
